Violet & Lacy
by xTamashii
Summary: He was hungover, had no idea where he was, and stuck wearing what was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable lingerie ever.  Not that he made a habit of waking up on a street corner wearing women's underwear, of course... -crackfic-


Okay. Um. This is really more or less a crack thing that my best friend and I came up with after school in the library. It's one of those things where you alternate in writing sentences to form a story. I know she'd be really pleased if she knew I was making a fanfiction out of it. XD But it's really...

Well it's crack. Pretty much.

With that in mind, read on.

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**Violet & Lacy**

_by Tamashii_

_

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_He was wearing women's underwear.

Not just the normal kind, either. It was the risqué kind, the kind that women generally wore if they were looking for a good time that night.

It was all purple, satin, lace, and scandalously cut. The bra didn't quite fit him properly, leaving alot of room since he didn't have breasts. The underwear was the most uncomfortable part, as he was afraid his privates would spring free given the chance.

Needless to say, a full grown man wearing sexy underwear standing in the middle of the sidewalk was bound to get some attention. Oh yes, he attracted all sorts of stares, laughs, and signs of open disgust. Also, confusion. Somehow he doubted their confusion could even match up to his.

In all honesty, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here or why he was standing here.

The last thing he recalled was drinking...and drinking quite a bit, at that. He fiddled with one of the lacy bra straps as he thought, passing by a woman who covered her curious daughter's eyes as they passed.

At some point, he realized, his memories became fuzzy. Perhaps one drink too many. Perhaps about ten drinks too many. He groaned inwardly. On top of having a terrific hangover, wearing lingerie, and having no idea where he was, he couldn't remember for the life of him what he was doing the night before or where he was doing it.

Judging from his current state, he would have to say whatever happened last night was absolutely crazy, absolutely terrible and absolutely _stupid_.

Alfred tried his best to remember, really. The last thing he remembered was his close friend Arthur being passed out dead drunk in the backseat (he never did last long) and Francis saying something very loudly in French. After that, nothing. No matter how hard he tried to remember, nothing. He groaned, massaging his temples and sitting down.

In hindsight, it probably would have been a good idea to get some normal clothes on. But he was too preoccupied with other thoughts.

He vaguely recalled Francis mentioning something about a date though...did that mean that maybe that person knew? But of course, it wasn't like Alfred had his phone on him (or anything else for that matter) so there was no way he could contact anyone.

He sat down on a bench, noticing that he kind of ached all over as he did so. Fantastic.

Before he could go back to wondering about the night before, a heavily accented voice interrupted his thoughts. His head snapped up, eyes unfocused as he vaguely registered that someone was speaking to him.

"Um, sorry. Can you repeat that?"

A laugh. The person in question moved a bit closer, revealing himself to the American. "So, it is you."

Alfred frowned as he tried to place the accent. Russian...?

The man sat down on the park bench next to him, turning toward him with a mildly amused look on his face.

"So it's...me?" Alfred echoed, mildly confused to put it lightly.

"Don't you remember me?" Yes, Russian. That accent was definitely Russian. In addition, this guy was huge! Tall, broad shouldered, hands that looked like they could crush his skull into pulp without even trying -

Wait. Did that mean...

"Remember you? Have we met?" Alfred asked warily, almost afraid of the answer.

The Russian chuckled at this. "Met? Well. If you consider you approaching me completely intoxicated in the dead of the night and molesting me, then me taking you to a hotel room where I fucked you multiple times 'meeting' then...yes, we have met." He still seemed amused.

Alfred's jaw dropped at this blunt statement. Well...well, _shit_. Now he knew what that pain in his backside was...

But wait. If he was with this guy last night, maybe he knew something...

"Was I um...was I wearing this when we...'met'?" He asked cautiously, indicating to the lingerie and glancing at the Russian out of the corner of his eye.

He only chuckled in response. "Not at the time, no."

Alfred sighed faintly, relieved. Well it was good to know he hadn't been parading around all night in it...

"But you were wearing quite...interesting clothes." He added thoughtfully, causing Alfred to freeze, horrified.

"What...what was I wearing?" He asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.

"Mmm...I believe it was leather? I am not sure. You ripped it when you took it off."

Alfred was sorely tempted to pound his head against some kind of solid surface.

He buried his face in his hands, not really wanting to know what else he'd done the night before. He jumped, however, when he felt the Russian's hand on his shoulder.

"I don't think I ever caught your name last night." He still sounded amused. Great. Alfred was sure there were more wonderful things that had happened over the horror that last night surely was. Somehow he'd managed to wear lingerie and leather in the same night that he went off with a giant Russian man doing who knows what sorts of kinky things in some cheap hotel room somewhere.

"It's Alfred." He said with a sigh, shaking his head slowly.

"I see. Then, I am Ivan." He smiled that smile again. It gave Alfred the creeps, but only a little.

They sat there in silence for a moment longer before Ivan spoke up again.

"Would you like to get lunch with me...? And perhaps it would be a good idea to get you some clothing." He noted, chuckling again.

Alfred shook his head. "Yeah. That would be great, actually." His tone was resigned.

The Russian beamed and rose from the bench, Alfred following. He was glad that he was going to be getting out of these soon enough. Because this underwear was _really_ riding up his ass and irritating a spot that was already sore, apparently thanks to that giant Russian guy who he still wasn't sure whether he could trust or not.

As the two walked away, someone chuckled into his cell, watching their backs.

"_Oui, _it worked alright, Gilbert. Operation Lingerie was a wonderful success."

The Frenchman closed the phone with a click before laughing joyously. That should teach Alfred not to make fun of his accent again.

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Ahaha.

What did I tell you? Crack. Wheee. We hadn't exactly gotten around to finishing the story in question or anything but I really had to put this down somehow. XD

In the meantime, review?


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